


To Be An Elf.

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)



Series: To Be [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Community: contrelamontre, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-06
Updated: 2003-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-10 09:55:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boromir wants to be an elf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be An Elf.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the contrelamontre tenses challenge. Under 60 minutes, must use at least two different tenses for two different scenes.
> 
>  
> 
> This one's for Bithy, who gave me both the pic that inspired the first part, as well as the bunny that inspired the second part. Sorry it took me so long to make good use of them.
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: Slight shaving kink.

Now:

Haldir has watched Boromir for the time it has taken to travel to Caras Galadhon and can find no fault in him. No matter what the Lady insinuates or the Lord states outright, Boromir is perfect. Slightly haughty of course, but that is only to be expected of a man of his station. Arrogance only becomes him all the more.

As Marchwarden, Haldir is accustomed to having to wait for his pleasure and so is pleasantly surprised when Boromir merely nods his acquiescence when Haldir tells him what is desired. Haldir is going to remark on it, but stops himself. 'Twouldn't do to insult the man he wishes to bed.

Men wear too many layers, Haldir decides a few minutes later. His own garments have been shed quickly enough, but chain mail was never intended to be removed quickly and Haldir considers ripping it to gain better access to the prize awaiting him. But again he stops himself. He hasn't taken a human lover in centuries. Men change.

Finally Boromir is down to only a loose undertunic and breeches and Haldir strips them away carefully. At last Boromir is bare before his eyes and Haldir drinks the sight in eagerly. Firm muscles, but he had known that already, and his gaze moves downward to Boromir's obvious excitement. So the man is not so cold and unfeeling after all. Boromir shall not be a placid lover, not if Haldir can help it. There are marks on Boromir's body where a sword performed its quick dance, but there are marks of other lovers as well. Haldir itches to put his own mark on Gondor's future steward. But that can wait. First he has a vala that needs worshipping.

Haldir is not accustomed to kneeling before mortals, or even elves for that matter, but something in Boromir's stance demands it. Tall, hard, and seemingly unfeeling, Haldir knows that it would take a storm of Orcs to make the man show hate, and the Marchwarden wonders what it would take to make the man show lust.

The forest is alive around them as Haldir sinks into a crouch and takes Boromir's legs between his arms, placing his arms delicately on the small of Boromir's back, positioning the young warrior. He rests his head gently against the man's flat stomach and breathes in, sensing the trees shake off their winter gloom to watch. The smell of decaying leaves reassures him as he turns back to the wild man in his arms and begins to suck.

Boromir's hair whips in the breeze and in the way the man's head lolls as Haldir's tongue works its magic. Haldir wonders what Boromir thinks of behind his closed eyes and serene features, and the elf bites down gently. Eyes spring open, no longer serene, and Haldir grins as well as he can. He tries not to listen to the name Boromir groans as he comes, but such a feat is impossible for a Silvan Elf, and besides, the name does not surprise him.

Once recovered, Boromir makes no move to return the favor, for that had not been their agreement. Instead he lies back against the rotting leaves and looks so peaceful that Haldir is loath to disturb him. But he must. He has a question to ask.

"Boromir?" Boromir grunts that he has heard and Haldir's hand moves to lie on Boromir's smooth chest. "Shouldn't you have hair here?"

Then:

The Fellowship had barely escaped the fires of Moria with their lives and not even the hobbits would rest until they were far enough away from the mountain so that it could not be easily seen. Boromir felt restless and, worse, useless. All he had done under the mountain was protect Frodo. How could he face his father knowing that he had failed the leader of his expedition? And now the new leader would not take heed to his advice to head for the White City for reinforcements. Boromir felt useless, like extra unneeded baggage, easily discarded.

He studied the dynamics of the Fellowship well. The hobbits stayed together, and Gimli walked often in the lead, trying to forget the horrors of Moria. And Aragorn walked with Legolas. His fellow human, and he betrayed him for an elf. His king, even, and neglectful as well as surly.

And so Boromir approached Legolas softly one night while Gimli was on watch, carrying blades with him.

"Legolas," he whispered once he was certain that the elf had been alerted as to his presence.

"Boromir," the elf returned and sat up from his pallet. "What can I do for you?"

There was little moonlight but even still the knives glowed as Boromir took them out. "I want to look like an elf. I desire your help in doing so."

Legolas blinked. "You want me to shave you?"

"Aye."

"By Eru...why?"

"Aragorn notices elves."

Legolas was silent for a long moment and then nodded. "I see. Where do you wish to be bladed?"

"All over," Boromir whispered hoarsely as he realized the entirety of his desire. "I want to look the elf. I have already taken care of my beard, but I cannot do my..." Boromir gestured south with one hand while the other offered the knives to Legolas. "I need you to help. Gimli probably wouldn't know what to do with a knife and-"

"And you don't want Aragorn to know."

"Aye."

Legolas took the blades without another word and pushed Boromir down gently, removing the loose clothing Boromir wore to hide his body from the chill. He had enough water in his flask to wet Boromir's hair so it would not hurt more than necessary, but nothing to work into a lather. Then inspiration struck him and his hands grasped Boromir's manhood and began to stroke it.

"Legolas, what are you doing?" Boromir's hands had risen to move Legolas' away, but the elf would not be deterred.

"I need cream to do this and you must provide it."

"And if it is not enough?"

Legolas laughed at Boromir's suspicion. "You're young. We can do this again."

"Very well."

Legolas had underestimated Boromir's youth, however, for it took longer than he had expected to make Boromir come apart under his hands. He took the precious fluid carefully and began to massage it into Boromir's chest hair.

Boromir held completely still as the knives went to work over his chest and stomach, flinching only as cold metal came in contact with an erect nipple. Legolas was in rapture at the dance of the blades, the chunks of the hair coming free, the complete submission on Boromir's face. He had never counted himself a lover of men, but Boromir was enough to tempt any elf. Legolas took his time, relishing Boromir's pliant flesh under his hands, wondering what it would take to have it lose all that precious control. Milking Boromir had not brought it on, and Legolas wondered what would.

Finally the knives had nothing left to cut, nothing save the patch of hair protecting Boromir's manhood from the world. "Remove it," Boromir whispered. "Make me an elf."

Legolas bowed his head and moved his left hand to caress his own bulge. There was none of Boromir's semen left and Legolas could not bring himself to take Boromir to unfeeling ecstasy. But unlike men, elves had complete control over their bodies and Legolas' hand was soon wet and warm. He slathered his seed over the pubic hair, unable to resist the urge to 'misplace' a few drops on Boromir's member itself. If it would be his only way of claiming this warrior, so be it.

The knives moved carefully around Boromir's testicles and Legolas watched in fascination as the warrior held himself completely still, though the fear of castration was written clearly on his face. But Legolas would never let himself do that. Boromir belonged to Aragorn, even if Aragorn was too shortsighted to see it. Boromir belonged to Aragorn and only the king of men could decree such an ignoble punishment. Only a king of men, and only to his faithful subject.

The prince of elves finished his task in silence and waited for Boromir to roll onto his side to begin to clean up. The blades would have to be resharpened, of course, and Boromir would feel a strange itch for the next few days, but other than that there was no change.

Save one. When Boromir stood, Aragorn's eyes followed.


End file.
